


Disastrous Companions

by softlyue, TK_DuVeraun



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adventure, BDSM elements, Blood Magic, Chronic Illness, Drama, F/M, Fantasy Racism, Implied Sexual Content, Mentions of fantasy slavery, Unhealthy Relationships, bad characters written sympathetically, consensual "romantic" violence, consensual rough intimacy, themes of consent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-05-30 02:04:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15086657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softlyue/pseuds/softlyue, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TK_DuVeraun/pseuds/TK_DuVeraun
Summary: Inquisition companions Karste Hennig and Vasili Sokolov should have, by all accounts, killed each other on sight. Instead, they're in a relationship.--Reposting of tumblr ficlets for organizational purposes.





	1. First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> The two main characters eventually engage in a violent romantic relationship. Both parties are consenting adults. The violence includes hitting, shoving, scratching, biting, hands on throats (without any suffocation or choking) and other misc actions. This work contains no smut, just implied sex and some vaguely detailed sexual situations.
> 
> All chapters are posted in chronological order, not the order in which they were written, so new chapters may be added in the middle. This is the same universe as the [Power Couple AU](https://archiveofourown.org/series/994356) and there is some crossover, though reading that is not necessary. Each chapter will link to the original posting, but some corrections and changes may have been made for posting here.
> 
> This work was co-written by [TK-DuVeraun](https://tk-duveraun.tumblr.com/) and [Lyriumyue](https://lyriumyue.tumblr.com/). Some characters in the universe belong to the following creators:
> 
> Amrita - [LutraGem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LutraGem/pseuds/LutraGem)  
> Mead, Ela - [Elalavella](https://elalavella.tumblr.com/)  
> Terenti - [Super_Nerd92](https://super-nerd92.tumblr.com/)  
> Ilena - [Ghilenan](http://ghilenan.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Please follow everyone on Tumblr for the most up-to-date postings, art, memes and general fun content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Original Link](https://lyriumyue.tumblr.com/post/174395041451/if-youre-taking-prompts-93-from-the-prompts)

Superstition in the east was different than back home. No mana poured from her fingertips, but as soon as the First Surgeon regarded her with unease, every person on a stretcher in the tents grew apprehensive. Karste attempted to learn the names of the soldiers left there to sleep. Few shared and so she took to humming and went back to her brews, back turned. It was easier to mask her frustration this way as she worked.

She was  _trying_.

A young man approached her at sunset. She beckoned him sit in front of the fire.

“You will need to undress,” she said with a sigh as she felt along his shoulder, down to the shoulder blade where the joint prodded outward. “I need to see.”

“Ay, whatever puts it back,” he muttered, and hissed as she pulled the tunic over his head. Karste folded the shirt before dropping to a knee to look closer.

“What were you doing?”

“Training, miss.”

“With what?”

“Awfully nosy, aren’t you? Just put it back,” he complained.

All eyes near them were on her. Karste let out a slow breath and, with it, the insult that bubbled at the back of her mind.

“What?”

She pressed her fingers into his back and he shouted in pain. The soldier made to move away from her but her grip on his dislocated shoulder was firmer. He crumpled over his knees.

Karste huffed. “You have three unlocked ribs. Your technique is bad. Is this your sword arm?”

“Not broken,” he countered with a wheeze. She pressed harder. A high pitched yelp and a shudder, and then he turned his face away.

“Just sit still,” she said under her breath, “and I will fix you.”

The crack and pop echoed across the courtyard. Karste found herself fighting the tiniest twitch of a smirk. The soldier made no more noise - no groans of pain or threats in complaint as she directed him onto his stomach after. Another quick, hard push downward and his ribs clicked back into place. Neither spoke as she padded and bandaged the injuries.

“And your name?” she asked as he stood.

“Excuse me?”

“I must submit your injury to the captain.” She put both hands on her hips and straightened her shoulders. They met eye to eye and, at first, he looked at her feet - searching for a heel, they all did.

She cleared her throat. “I will not be pleased to repeat this if you make more mistakes.”

“It’s not that bad–” He cut himself off as her eyes narrowed. “Mattei Lessin, miss.” She gave a nod and he stepped away from her, shirt in hand, holding his spine rail-straight as he ascended the stairs toward the barracks.

Behind her began a slow clap.

“The look on your face there, you really enjoyed that, didn’t you?” taunted the man approaching her, light hair reflecting the firelight. His smug smirk pulled to a grin as she looked over him, the excessive styling on his plate and scale and the – _oh_ …the marks on his face. The scout nearest them shifted, turned bodily away from the conversation and the men sitting near the fire grimaced.

She said nothing.

“You  _could_ stand to show your teeth a little more. Your reputation precedes you, you might as well make it live.” He made a half-hearted gesture in her direction. “You know, wild healer woman from the scary Blightlands, surely you’ve heard. The spirit boy said you’ve got the voice of a lark but he hasn’t an ear for it, I think.”

Karste dismissed him with a shake of her head, turned away. “ _It’s a real shame no one asked for your opinion_ ,” she muttered in Anders, hoping that if she shut him out, he’d let her be.

“ _No but you’d love to hear it, I’m absolutely certain_ ,” came the smooth reply in her native tongue and she instantly recognized the accent, the rhythm and cadence–

Karste paused, glanced back, felt equal parts irritated and also…no, _just irritated_ , she decided. She was homesick before he spoke. She was homesick before she convinced those Orlesian academics to hire her.

“You  _can go, now_.”

“It’s  _Vasili_ ,” he corrected, one eyebrow quirking. “Does the wild lark have a name?”

She thought about withholding it. Besides the Inquisitor, no one else had asked her first. The soldiers near them might be turned away, but they still listened. _Let them hear it, too,_ she reasoned. Karste looked at Vasili - Vas, that was easier - for any sign of mischief, indication that he was looking to prod at her.

Did it matter?

“Karste,” she replied, clipped, “ _And you will find… I am more scorpion than lark_.”

He laughed to himself as he walked away. Karste muttered a curse under her breath and did not move again until he was gone.


	2. Display

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Link to the original posting.](https://tk-duveraun.tumblr.com/post/174406581044/share-a-drink-with-my-muse-share-a-meal)

He hadn’t expected to find anyone in the kitchen at this hour. George wanted a sweetcake that hadn’t been where anyone else could touch, along with some kind of sparkling pretend-Riesling the ambassador imported and he refused to let Vasili rest until they had been acquired.

A derisive snort echoed in his mind from the demon when Vasili opened the door, wine bottle in hand and cork nowhere to be seen, to find Karste over the hearth.

“What is  _that_?” he asked before he made around the table to see what she was cooking. He set the bottle behind him.

She sat crosslegged on the stool with a bowl of…whatever it was…in hand. She stared up at him with the spoon on her tongue before she answered, with  _that_ tone, “My cooking?”

It looked like a stew, probably. He made to toss another insult when George held him still.

 _I want that instead_ , he said.

“It’s my father’s recipe,” Karste continued, and looked away from him to spoon another bite, “Root vegetables in the east are much better.” She offered him the bowl in her hand. “Come on, it’s good. My cooking is as good as my potions.”

Vasili sniffed. “You mean in that it will kill a man?” He took the bowl and spoon, and stirred slowly.

“Then give it back.” Karste held out her hand.

_Do not give it back._

“Oh you didn’t expect me to take you up on this?” Vasili flashed her a charming grin and leaned against the table. “Who’d have expected you to be such great peasant wife material.”

He turned out of her reach and took a spoonful of the stew. The taste was warm, gentle, a little herby - softer than he expected. He arranged his face in careful disdain and continued to eat, slowly. It was more fun when she–

There it was, the irritated, impatient sigh. “Well?”

“Passable,” he said, “But since we’re eating like the common rabble, we might drink like them too.” He set the bowl out of her reach and took the bottle of Riesling instead. He took a sip - oh, Teren would be  _beside_ himself to see this - and held it out to her.

“Try not to sputter it everywhere, you heathen,” he warned as she took it. “George insists it’s special.”

Karste too, was silent for a time, and slowly brought the bottle to her lips. Without breaking eye contact, she tilted her head back slowly and drank, and drank, and dr–

“Okay,  _Kara_ , that’s enough,” he hissed and lunged forward to take it back.

She stuck out her foot to hold him back, exposing a bare foot -  _barefoot! Honestly! This woman!_  - and ankle as she pressed her toes into his hip. She looked over the label though they both knew she couldn’t read the embossed, stylized script. When Karste turned her eyes back at him, her posture oozed with mischief and sarcasm all the same.

“You’re right, this is special,” she said as she smoothed her tongue over her lips, “ _You look much more impressive after half the bottle._ ”

He shoved her leg and reached, wrapped his fingers around the neck of the bottle and took it back. “In Tevinter, I’d see fit to punish you for that display.”

Her laugh indicated she didn’t take his threat seriously. “ _Oh_ , how I’d like to see you try.”

“I don’t try, I succeed,” Vasili reminded her and took her chin with his other hand. “You’ll give back what you took.”

“Will I–”

He tugged her forward and slotted his mouth over hers, muffled her cry of surprise with his tongue slipping past her teeth. At first her hands flew to his wrist, gripping him, but her hold eased as he tilted his head to the side. Then, the smallest whine came from her and he pushed her away. Karste glared at him, touching her lips with the back of her hand, as if trying to come up with something to say.

Vasili shrugged then lit up for her his brightest smile as he balanced bowl and bottle in hand. He turned and sauntered away, leaving her and the kitchen behind him.


	3. Acrophobia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Original Link](https://lyriumyue.tumblr.com/post/174590371591/acrophobia).

The wide expanse of stars over the stretch and stretch of dunes and cliffs almost didn’t look like Orlais, in the dark. A couple weeks north, if the stops were short, they’d reach the dry, cracked earth that marked the start of her homeland. On the foothills of the Hunterhorns, between Perendale and Weisshaupt, she helped a midwife deliver a baby during her travels to Orlais. Idly, Karste wondered if she was healthy. The child would be sitting up on her own, about now.

At first, she thought she would enjoy this, a touch of desert heat and the rasp of sand blowing in the wind. The summer season meant they traveled and worked by night, but it didn’t matter. Even in the cold, if she didn’t look too hard and kept her eyes focused above, it felt like the bone-dry outskirts to the steppes and none of it seemed quite as far away as it felt recently.

It felt far less the dream she pictured, when they ended stuck in the quarry as the pink light of dawn stretched across the sky, through the small hole above them.

“I hope you’re happy.”

“I can’t imagine what you’re referring to.” Vasili shrugged before he folded his arms disinterestedly. “George got his treasure and you all get to continue on for another day.”

She let out a slow exhale instead of the sharp retort that first came to mind.

Following the trail of one of the maps left behind by Venatori, the search led them up the side of the quarry, past the scaffolding and the posts stabilizing the bridges and ladders. She advised them to stop. Treasure wasn’t worth that climb in the dark. They might be better just before dawn, with the early light. And if they were quick they’d get back down before the temperature was too hot to bear.

The Inquisitor agreed. So did the Seeker.

But reason be damned if that demon wanted something. Not even Vasili could be that stupid.

Latest among her regrets was offering to keep Vasili from falling to his death at the top of the overhang. So she led the climb, not so much his safety, of course - never that - but rather the assuredly long list of consequences to follow from the nobility and the Carta otherwise invested in him. The stone looked damaged, more dust and fracture than cliff. There was a crack, a slight shake of the ground beneath them. Karste had time enough to grab onto Vasili’s arm as it crumbled underneath their weight. As the dust and stone around them settled, the little lyrium-imbued amulet glowed in the dark.

How they fell into this little fissure without shattering their feet under them was beyond her now but the rock piled piece by piece until just the smallest little hole was left above them. A cloud of dust blew away to reveal stars first. The hours passed and no sound came to them besides their own breaths, no indication that their companions found them or had the means to assist. The crevice gave them room enough to wiggle a little, stretch their limbs - as long as they didn’t try to do it at the same time. Karste attempted first to check them both for injury as he shifted to get more comfortable and she knocked her chin on his chestplate.

“I hate you,” she muttered as the first twinges of morning light cast them in long shadows.

This earned Karste a charming smile. Her frown deepened. Vasili gave her a wink. “Your predictability makes my life so much easier.”

“Good, then listen,” she said, giving as hard a shove at his chest as she could in the confined space. Vasili raised both brows, feigned being impressed to mock her.

“Such strength. I marvel at your ferocity.”

Karste twisted against him, reached back for her knife and held it to his throat as she fisted the fabric of his collar. “ _I will not put up with this from you here_ ,” she snarled, voice dropping as she switched back to Anders to give weight to the threat. He didn’t reply, just gave the slightest twitch in his disinterested stare.

Karste glanced upward. “They won’t get up here until dusk with either magic or equipment to free us. Not with the heat.”

“I could easily–”

“No you can’t.” She tugged his coat again. “If you bring the mountain down on us you’ll kill us…and your demon’s new toy.”

He paused, as if to consider, then gave a noncommittal shrug.

 _If you show your irritation, that satisfies him._  It was easy enough to warn herself but it took every measure of power and patience to slowly inhale and tilt her head toward the corner. “Press yourself closer there. When the sun passes, you don’t want to be under it.”

Vasili stared at her, looked the narrowing of the passage in the stone, then back again.

“You’re thinner.”

“And you’re fair as a maiden, get in there.”

“You already reek from this blasted sandpit, I don’t want to smell you sizzling on top of that. Besides…” He pulled her hand from his coat collar and gestured to himself. “This was  _custom_ , I don’t want to scratch it.”

“How can you be so vain right now?”

“Unlike some, I don’t parrot my elegance and charm!”

“ _Blight take you_ , why can’t you listen to my experience just once!”

“ _Ohh_ , I understand,” he said as he turned her hand in his, as if to ask her to walk with him. “You’re afraid of the dark, aren’t you?”

Her fury put her to silence. She tried once, then twice, to articulate something, anything of her indignation, but no sound came besides one angry, high pitched squeak. There was no expression in any tongue to encompass this.

Because how could she explain that the Deep Roads might be anywhere, that a hand in the shadow could be the one to take her to an early grave, an incubator for more darkspawn to come? She couldn’t. Wouldn’t. He didn’t need to know. She would just listen closely, try to remind herself this wasn’t likely, that they were too close to the surface.

“I fear nothing,” Karste finally sputtered, “Not harmless dark, nor you.” To emphasize, she tossed her head and sheathed the knife before twisting into the small split to her left. Vasili moved with her, but before he could close himself into the space between them she threw her long scarf at him. He looked down at it in his hand.

“I already told you this isn’t some run-of-the-mill armour, you can strip as much as you like, I won’t join in this hovel,” he sniffed.

“Ugh, to cover your head and neck,  _jackass_.”

He seemed to want to reject it again, but the shadows around them shrank as the light expanded. Where the occasional vulture cried in the night, outside the cavern was only emptiness and the scrape of dry wind against the jagged mouth of the broken rock above them. Before she could give him permission to come closer her pressed against her and with no shortage of exaggerated inconvenience, dropped the scarf around his pauldrons. Karste leaned back into the stone to give him more room in the shadow, tried not to shudder as her back was exposed to the dark. Vasili moved with her and rested his arm above her.

“Quit posturing.” She avoided looking at him, as he tilted his chin to try and catch her gaze.

“Who’s posturing? I’m merely guarding you from the shadows.” A laugh, to himself. “Not exactly the first corner I’d press you into, though. Private bathhouse, maybe. Something expensive.”

Karste considered her options. She decided he held the advantage here and marked that dig for retribution later. They looked each other nearly eye-to-eye, so she settled into an unimpressed glower with arms folded and deep, quiet breaths. If the calm bothered Vasili, he gave no indication. After a time he adjusted his stance over her, she assumed for comfort. She broke the stare once to glance downward at a worry for his circulation and weariness in the armour, a thought that Karste pushed away as soon as it came to her. His choice. His business. Not her problem unless he collapsed on her–

“You seem so troubled,  _Kara_.”

She looked up into his light eyes, her own narrowed at his amused tone. “Not at all.” She paused before she opened her mouth to correct him on her name. Thinking better than to encourage him, Karste only shook her head and pointed her gaze to the ground.

One hour passed, then another. As the day crept, comfortable cool shifted to dry and suffocating heat. She thought of summer back home, the same shift of life: sleep in the light of day, work through the night. Her mother always went out anyway; the heat could kill stragglers and she hated to leave anyone behind. Karste used to sing to fill the absence of their parents in the house.

She tilted her head back against the stone and thought to hum, but in such close quarters, if anything crept on them from above or behind, neither would hear. Karste chose the quiet exchange of their breaths instead. She closed her eyes to listen.

Above, the wind picked up. Dust and sand scattered over them and both tried to cover their grunt of irritation.

Vasili reached over to flick a clump of sand and stones from her shoulder, overemphasized disdain tugging his amused smirk into a carefully placed sneer. At the touch, she flinched without meaning to and caught only the barest thrum of a sound in his throat as he pulled his hand away.

“You ask me to tuck in with you and couldn’t bother to brush yourself off first. You might be content in this hellscape, but you could meet me halfway.”

She answered his teasing with a snort, looked up with only one eye. “Please, don’t let me stop you. Saves me the trouble.”

He swatted her other shoulder. They both knew no sand settled there. Karste shrugged off his hand, he placed his palm again against the wall above. She pushed her fingers through her hair and wished she’d bound it before they left the camp. She chanced a glance over her shoulder, but the shadows remained as barren as the sky above them.

Soon enough, the late afternoon light glinted off of him, bright and hot. Karste opened her eyes to see Vasili standing almost arched over her, completely calm besides a small flex of his shoulders. The scarf remained untouched. She noticed it with a half-hearted sigh, but when she looked up to him he seemed no more inconvenienced than earlier and the shimmer of sky above them matched his gaze: bright, blue, and a little…hazy. Not tired, exactly, as he seemed focused, but… _It must be the heat_ , she thought as she made a small hum of sympathy.  _In all that armour…_

She moved. He caught her in his stare and without breaking it Karste put her arms around his neck. Vasili dipped his chin only just, revealing flushed but unharmed skin. It was then she realized he was barely sweating.

“…of course you’re just using magic to heal the burning.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head. Of course he was just find. Of course there was nothing more to putting her in the corner, he’d use any opportunity to show off wouldn’t he–

Vasili leaned in closer, a salacious smirk stretched wide across his face. “Did you have a suggestion for how else I’m supposed to spend my energy trapped here?” His gaze dropped down to her lips as she bit the inside of her cheek.

Karste did not give voice to the question in her thoughts.  _Is this a test or an invitation?_

His expression fell to displeasure when her hands repositioned the scarf as a hood over them anyway, the demon’s interference a footnote in her intent. She hoped George didn’t expect to keep it. Karste meant to take it back as soon as they were freed.

“I can’t believe you just put that filthy thing over my head.”

“From the man who pulls his enemies’ blood into his skin?”

“When was the last time this was properly laundered?”

The laugh that burst out of her surprised them both and he leaned back in shock. She controlled it down to a snort with one hand over her face, before she teased, “You’re a cranky bastard underneath all that–”

Over his shoulder, between the junction of pauldron and gorget, moved a tiny dark shadow, a little larger than a fig. Karste pulled the small hooked knife from the front of her belt and frowned as the creature stopped.

“Hold still, Vas.”

“Vas?”

“ _Still_ ,” she repeated and reached with both hands hovering over the space until the little thing moved again. Karste snatched the scorpion and stretched it from tail and head between her fingers before she twisted the curved knife through it. The insect writhed once before it went limp in her grasp, fluid oozing around the blade. Another twist and the tail popped from the body. Karste discarded the useless half to their feet and dropped the tail into the hardened leather pouch at her hip.

“That’s disgusting.” Vasili’s lip curled. “What is that, some kind of trophy?”

Karste wiped the blade on her pant leg before she tucked it away. She met his repulsion with an smile. “You can tell me how it tastes in your dinner after I extract it. They’re potent at this size.”

He huffed and nudged her with his knee. “You can threaten better than that. You’re not growing fond of me, are you? Perish the thought, you might have a heart after all.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I needn’t, you’re doing well enough in your own uncivilized way.” Vasili tilted forward as the light shifted over them, illuminating around him through the scarf before it dropped over the entrance. He shot a glance back as if to mark his victory over the glare of the sun.  _Insufferable_.

“I should have let it sting you.”

“ _Maferath_ , woman, shut up.”

“Gratitude would be enough.”

“Gratitude? We’re even now, keep up.”

She pondered the statement and looked over his expression for any sign of deception, when it dawned on her. How they fell unhurt  _was_ beyond her.

“A barrier for the fall?”

“I’m horrifically offended and properly vexed by this belated revelry for the expanse of my power.”

_I hate him._

It was too easy, too thoughtless a motion to grip his coat collar, to grab him by the hair and give - no,  _take_ \- her thanks by surprise in a knocking of teeth. Her brows came together in a frown as he pushed her back and dove into her. Karste couldn’t tell who drew blood first, but she tasted iron on her tongue where he nipped it as the marks on his face pulsed with warmth and chill against her skin. His gloved hands came to take her wrists and he pressed them into the sharp juts of stone as the scarf fell from him. Karste kicked out in retaliation, but her boot met with guarded shin in a dull clang and he only took her upset groan as encouragement. Vasili curved into her, pressing metal to leather and cutting off her curses with hard, bruising kisses. Fire burned in her face and in her pulse thundered in her ears, silencing doubt and sense both as Vasili pulled back and put a breath of space between them.

“Like I said…”

“Hah,” she panted and relaxed her arms in his grasp. “You don’t frighten me.”

Vasili’s nose brushed past her cheek. With a hot exhale on her neck he flicked his tongue against the two studs pierced in her ear. He dragged each word as he dragged his mouth along the length of her throat, “…are you sure?”

Before she could think twice, she muttered, “ _You could never_.”

He freed one of her arms only to put his fingers around her throat as his lips met her indignant hiss. She should have regretted challenging him, but that self-beration drowned under her begging whine as he groaned against her mouth. This time they separated for only a gasp, long enough for Karste to pull her other arm free and wrap both around his neck, fingers twisting into his hair. Metal scratched against flesh as he pushed aside the fabric of her hood and sunk his teeth into the junction of neck and shoulder. Karste tightened her grip and a desperate  _please_ tumbled out of her in a whisper. Vasili answered with a murmur along her skin and tongued along the bite, suckling the mark as she swore into his hair.

It felt like seconds, like the long suspended moment between choking and a wheeze for air. The bubbling, raging heat in her belly and the hot pulse of her fingertips was cut apart by the shifting of rock with force magic above and a familiar, nasally  _ughhh_.

“ _She’d rather we passed the time by reading_ ,” he murmured in Anders as they separated and passed his tongue over his lips before he turned to Cassandra with a wide, victorious grin in place.

“ _Sounds boring_ ,” Karste replied, and muttered a curse toward herself under her breath.  _Why do I keep doing this…?_  With a thick swallow and slow intake of breath, she pulled herself free of him.

Beyond them, the dark bruising of sunset washed behind their companions, staring down at them with ropes in hand.

“Next time,” swore the Seeker with an irate shake of her head, “We leave them for dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story that follows this one is explicit and can be found [at this link](https://lyriumyue.tumblr.com/post/174838965506/entrapment). It is not expected to be posted on AO3 at this time.


	4. Interim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Original Link](https://lyriumyue.tumblr.com/post/174997120966/interim).
> 
> Reminder, this is an immediate sequel to a piece **not currently posted on AO3 with no intention of being posted here**. You can find it at [this link](https://lyriumyue.tumblr.com/post/174838965506/entrapment), but keep it mind that it contains explicit material with all of the parent warnings on this story in addition to explicit sex.

She awoke with a startled choke, darkspawn hands reaching for her. Karste felt around the bedroll but she found no cold steel to comfort her, just an annoyed grunt behind her.

Karste twisted with arms raised to defend.

Vasili turned to his side and tugged the blanket over his shoulder.

Three, four, five breaths in and out before she recollected where she was and why.

Her hips and her…well, her  _everything_ ached a little. The back of her head the most, where he pulled her hair at the scalp. She took a count of the swelling welts of red peppering her from throat to thighs. Too many. When she pressed at the handprint on her hip, her stomach knotted and she felt fire and ice both racing in her blood.

Distantly, she heard the gentle conversation of Mead and…someone else, talking at the fire. If there was light outside, the canvas of the tent did not betray it. Karste let out a full body shudder.

She looked back to Vasili, who thankfully seemed fast asleep and said nothing about her sudden outburst.

But no darkspawn. Desert, yes. Taint, no. Karste sighed again and looked around the tent, waiting for her eyes to adjust.

She should never have stayed in here. What was she thinking? This was out of her system and over-with, there was nothing more that Lady Cassandra could roll her eyes at and if the others cared it didn’t matter. What was one erotic tumble in the middle of a war?

Karste scrubbed her hands over her face at the thought. No. It was just…an encounter. One she should not have had. It didn’t matter, she was awake now and before he could be roused enough to ask her why she was thrashing about in the dark, she needed to leave.

Karste found her leggings and boots easily enough, but ruined garments aside, the rest were impossible to find in the dark. Let him find her undergarments and not her to get the message, then. She glanced at his shirt on the tent floor, then down to her naked, bruised torso and back.

“Well you tore mine, you bastard,” she whispered as she pulled it over her head. Karste paused long enough to rub the soft material between her fingers. This was a far finer cotton than any she’d ever owned. It probably cost more than her belongings combined. She’d give it back when he made good on his promise of a replacement. As she tugged on her boots, she tried to place the smell of his shirt - not just him or the copper-iron smell of blood, or soft leather, but…some kind of bitter…? She tried to recall what specifically it reminded her of, but movement outside the tent made her flinch and lace her boots faster.

 _Stop thinking about it, you won’t notice once the calendula is on anyway,_ she chided herself.

Karste was halfway through the canvas flap when Vasili yawned loudly.

“I’ll want that back,” he said blearily.

Karste didn’t look back to see the expression on his face. She squeezed her eyes shut and darted out into the night, heart racing, face flushed, until she was back in her own cold tent and clutching her hand to her chest.

No, actually, she would give his shirt back in the morning once she was dressed in her own.

This had to end here.

She shivered miserably under her own blankets, curled up with her knees to her chest and her hand over the bruises on her throat to try and bring back the warmth she’d fled from. When she closed her eyes, she heard his vicious, encouraging growl and the heat of his skin, burning and igniting her outside and in–

Karste hissed an ughhh in disgust at her own thoughts.

Yes, she’d made a mistake.

She hoped the new day brought battle enough to exhaust her tomorrow. Karste would not sleep again tonight.


	5. Bad Planning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Original link](https://tk-duveraun.tumblr.com/post/174392944629/ask-my-muse-out-on-a-first-date-try-and).

It was the perfect opportunity. Faust was busy staring doe-eyed at Ela, which meant the library in the lower levels was empty. Though Mead had given her the run of the castle, people still looked at her with suspicion. It rankled. Vas was an unapologetic blood mage walking around with the proof of it on his face for everyone to see, but since he didn’t  _look_  Tevinter, people forgot.

Ass.

Regardless, she stalked down into the lower levels. She was pulling her slate out from behind a stack of dusty tomes when the sound of a book snapping shut startled her. When she turned to look, she was thankful she hadn’t jumped. Fucking Vas. As if trying to rub salt in the wound, he was dressed in his full Altus regalia and she wanted to stab him.

Okay, she  _always_  wanted to stab him, but particularly at that point.

Actually… She threw one of her daggers at him and it struck him in the shoulder.

Vasili winced and carefully balanced the old book in one hand while he yanked the dagger out. The edge of the blade glowed purple as the blood on it was licked up by George’s magic. A similar glow shone out of the tear in his robe as George healed the wound. With a casual flick of his wrist, Vasili tossed the dagger back towards her. The blade sunk into the table just behind her.

“What are you doing here?” Karste asked in Anders.

“I  _was_  reading. You know. A regular pursuit for us scholarly types that actually need to use their brains instead of just throwing bits of metal across the field of battle,” Vas returned in the same language.

Karste was skeptical, since the book in his hands was still covered in dust and he was leaned against a bookshelf rather than sitting in a chair like a normal person. If she hadn’t known better, she would have assumed he’d been waiting for her. She put her hands on her hips. “Go away.”

Vas smirked, never a good sign, and then lightly set down the book he’d been holding. After clapping the dust off of his hands, he reached into his robes and pulled out a folded piece of paper. While it was folded neatly in his hands, it had clearly been crumpled at some point. He made pointed eye contact before unfolding the page and clearing his throat.

“Dear Vassy,” he started. He was speaking in trade again and reading as if it were a formal proclamation. “The red squiggies on your face make me as hot as your magic. I’m gonna climb you like a tree. Meet me in the basement library after ya eat yer lunch. I’m gonna take a taste. Of several things. Love, Karsta.”

Somehow, he managed to get through the entire thing without laughing. He raised a single eyebrow before tossing the paper in her direction. He switched back to Anders to say, “Sera could have at least spelled your name right.”

Karste glanced at the letter, but Sera’s handwriting was awful at the best of times, so she just assumed Vas had accurately relayed the contents. She crumpled it up in her fist. “I’ll get her back for this.”

“There was a dead lizard in my boot this morning. I’d rather like to get in on your revenge.”

“You’ll fuck it up. You lack subtlety.”

“I have my moments,” Vasili said, stroking his chin. “Do you know what would ruin her fun the most?”

“Solas.”

“…Also true, but not what I had in mind.” Magic flickered across Vas’s face and shoulders. Karste was aggressively not impressed. He continued, “She would be speechless with fury if her little prank backfired.”

“Backfired how?” Karste asked. She licked her lips, just an idle motion, but it gave her the same idea Vas had apparently had. She returned his smirk. “Let’s do it.”

“Let’s make a good show of it,” Vas said, holding out his arm, as if he were about to escort Karste to some kind of ball.

“I’ll have to think of someone less hideous, but I’ll manage,” she said as she took his arm.

Vas patted her hand. “Whatever you have to tell yourself.”


	6. Threats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Original Link](https://tk-duveraun.tumblr.com/post/174931500484/is-that-a-threat-for-the-ask-meme).

Vasili bared his teeth and then slipped past her, pointedly  _not_  shoving Karste despite being well within range. “Enough of this. I’m done. I told you before: I won’t take what isn’t offered and I won’t play this game.”

“ _Is that a threat_?” Karste asked in Anders, her blood pounding so loudly in her ears that she felt deaf.

“It’s a promise,” Vasili returned in Trade.

Karste grabbed for him before he could leave her tent, but the marks on his arm flashed and gave him enough agility to dodge her attempt. So she was alone, staring at the cold canvas. Her blood was searing her veins and the fresh bite mark on her shoulder radiated fire that made her skin tingle, but it wouldn’t last. Not with that dismissal. The Tevinter mage was far too proud to come back to her that night.

Except he didn’t come to her the next night, either. He didn’t speak to her, wouldn’t even look at her during the day. Vasili even went so far as to engage Mead in conversation to add a buffer against her attention.

Vasili had first watch the second night, so Karste settled herself in the center of his bedroll. She waited, ready for him to return and violently try to shove her aside, but he never did. When the moon was high in the sky, the canvas flap opened and shut with no magic-warmed mage entering. Karste gave up on sleep just before dawn. She found the spoiled mage draped over his horse with his armor carelessly discarded nearby.

Of course, he woke up under her stare, but the look he gave her wasn’t angry or bitter. It wasn’t even cold. His expression was just as blank as when he stared at a rotted, old tree waiting for the Inquisitor decide on their next course of action. The indifference stabbed her in the- No. It was fine. She didn’t care. It was better this way. Significantly less bickering. Missions would be much quicker without them distracting everyone.

So Karste turned around and collapsed both of their tents. The Inquisition party packed their things and left without a single word spoken in Anders.

Four days later, Karste was back in her room in Skyhold. Stitches had taken one look at her haggard expression and banned her from the healing tents for two days until she’d recovered from travelling. She hadn’t argued, but she doubted she’d look much better in two days. She’d barely slept the last few days. Cold and ravaged by nightmares, she’d managed two hours a night at best. The spiteful vein in her heart wanted Vasili to see and feel guilty, but he hadn’t so much as glanced at since leaving her tent.

She clenched her jaw and ground her teeth whenever his eyes just passed over her as if she wasn’t even there. She’d even caught his shoulder with one of her throwing daggers, but he’d just yanked it out of his armor and dropped it in her hand without a word.

But it was better, really. Karste wasn’t some child that constantly needed attention. She wasn’t  _Anja_  needing to make herself and her sexual escapades the center of attention. She and Vasili had just been getting revenge on Cassandra and then spitefully tweaking Sera’s nose. There was nothing there. Nothing to be disappointed by.

Two days in the castle felt like weeks when all Karste had to fill her time was reading outdated healing books in spidery Trade writing. The Chargers had left the first day, but when Karste went to help the surgeons, Sa’alle’s dog, Ivan, stood there with his arms crossed. “You need rest.”

Karste wanted to argue that she was never going to get any at this rate, but she bit her tongue on those words. Finally, she said, “I’ll just have to have a talk with the Inquisitor and-”

“Please do. The young master has advised him to have you taken off duty for the month, but since he hasn’t seen your condition for himself his Worship decided to leave it at two days for now.”

Karste howled in frustration and threw her hands up in the air before stalking down to the cramped, cobwebby library in the basement, but Sa’alle wasn’t even there to face her wrath.

Karste lasted another four days of freezing under her blankets before bunching them up in her arms and dragging them across the castle to Vasili’s room. It was in the highest repaired room in the Northwest tower. None of the nearby rooms were occupied - his was only livable because of the layers of spells and enchantments that kept it warm.

He looked up at her when she opened the door. He was in his bed, reading a letter to the glow from his marks. It looked terribly impressive and Karste felt herself warm in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature. He asked only, “What?”

Karste threw her blankets at his face and then shucked off her coat and boots. Vasili had just finished shoving her blankets onto the floor when she shoved  _him_  and crawled into the newly-freed warm spot in the center of the mattress. “ _I’m cold. I’m sleeping here. Deal with it,”_  Karste said in Anders.

With a loud scoff, Vasili elbowed her in the face as he pulled his now-crumpled letter back up to read. He said nothing.

But neither did he leave or push her away.

Karste slept through the night and well into the morning, only waking when Vasili climbed over her to start his day of doing… Whatever it was he did during the day. She pretended to still be asleep when she rolled over to watch him leave. The blood mage didn’t look at her, but on his way out, he ran a hand along the runes on the wall. The flashed to life for a moment.

It wasn’t until Karste woke again at mid-afternoon that she realized he’d ensured the room would stay warm for her.

They didn’t speak, despite sitting adjacent each other in the Herald’s Rest for the entire night. Vasili left and went to his bed long before Karste did, but when she reached his room, there was no lock, mundane or magical, barring her way. With no small amount of hesitation, she settled herself next to him under the blankets.

After her second night of true rest, Karste woke before Vasili. Part of her wished she hadn’t. He was curled protectively around her back, with one hand wrapped around her waist. His breath was hot on the back of her neck and the only part of him that wasn’t relaxed was pressed firmly against her backside. A shameful mewl escaped her at the realization, but Karste quickly bit her fist and ran her mind through the most boring, inaccurate healing texts should could remember.

There were a lot. The next thing she knew, she was waking up again, alone that time.

Stitches was finally back in the healers’ tents and finally let her in to help without comment. Karste had hoped a day spent cleaning burns and suturing ragged wounds would douse the fire in her, but, and it disgusted her somewhat, every splash of blood just brought Vasili to the forefront of her mind.

She found his bed long before him that night, afraid she might wantonly rub herself on him until he woke up and- and- Karste felt hot and flushed all over, but she finally managed to fall asleep wrapped in warm magic and the musky, coppery smell of him.

Morning came with a content, sleepy sigh in her ear and the hand on her waist tightening. Unable to take it a moment longer, Karste moaned and grabbed his wrist in an iron grip. She pushed his hand under her tunic and gasped at the feel of his burning fingers against the bare skin of her stomach. Her head tilted back of its own accord, leaving her neck vulnerable to sharp inevitability of Vasili’s mouth.

He took advantage, but not the way she wanted. It wasn’t teeth that touched her, but impossibly soft lips.

“ _Please. Please, I need it. I need you, Vas. Please.”_ Karste pleaded.

“ _I’m not playing any more games_ ,” Vasili murmured into the soft skin just under her ear. He shifted his hand out from under the pillow they were sharing and touched her neck where he hadn’t left bruises in days.

“ _No games. Please. Just fuck me_.” Karste whispered back.

Vasili’s hand on her stomach moved down, slowly pushing down her underthings. He kissed a wet trail across her jaw before tilting her head to press his lips to hers. “ _I’m not fucking you this time. I’m giving you what you need_.”

“ _Please.”_


	7. Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Original Link](https://tk-duveraun.tumblr.com/post/175097727624/143-just-how-stupid-do-you-think-i-am).
> 
> This is a direct sequeal to an Explicit piece not posted on AO3 with no intention of being posted on Ao3. If you are of age to view sexually explicit content, you can find it [here](https://lyriumyue.tumblr.com/post/175097699501/restraint).

When Karste woke, her first thought was that she would almost prefer the nightmares. The warm lassitude in her body was all one lie, misled by a, frankly preposterous, dream where she and Vas had- had- Well, as he’d said at the beginning of the dream, he hadn’t fucked her. Slow, gentle touches and whispers of ‘Kara’ in her ear.

She’d enjoyed it in the dream, but  _enjoying_  it hadn’t been the point. The point had been some stupid foolishness her brain was again trying to convince her body she wanted. At least her body was honest. More honest, anyway. She ached for a proper ache between her legs, for burning fingers on her throat, not choking just showing control, begging for trust- She pulled her thoughts up short. 

Trust had no more of a part in their couplings than her heart did. She shook her head, tried to shake the thought away, but all she did was knock her head forward against Vasili’s. She froze. They were naked, with limbs tied up like lovers in some ridiculous story. Karste experimentally moved her leg, but found their thighs as tacky as her dream had promised. A glance down at her chest showed no bruises, just a flush that was quickly spreading. 

No. 

This was bad. 

She had to get up and wash. 

Wash and then find a mage that would put warming spells on her room. Sa'alle might be bribed into it, if she could wrangle a kitten or two. That’s what he liked, right? Kittens and that little blonde elf from the Inquisitor’s clan. 

Karste pulled one arm free and tried to use it to leverage herself up and out of his bed, but of course Vasili just  _had_  to wake up. He looked at her from between barely-opened eyelids. He yawned, arching his back and stretching like a large desert cat and Karste could suddenly hear her pulse pounding in her ears.

He grabbed her wrist with no gentleness - there was even a bite from his nails. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I… Have an early shift in the surgeons’- ah!” His other hand had-  _ah!_  - Karste couldn’t think.

“ _Just how stupid do you think I am?_ ” Vasili growled in Anders,

“ _Very_!” Karste spit out. 

All of Vasili’s marks flashed at once and faster than Karste could see, he sat up and leaned in, biting her neck with all of the savage power he’d leashed earlier. Before she could even finish gasping, he threw her back down onto the blankets. “ _On your hands and knees_.” 

Karste would pay him back for that. Double. More than. But she would do it later. For the moment all she could do was obey.


	8. Realization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Original Link](https://tk-duveraun.tumblr.com/post/174547409959/disaster-pair-ficlet-lyriumyue-the-sight-was).

The  _sight_  was never what bothered Karste. Everyone’s insides were the same red, squishy, delicate mess inside and after she was twelve years old and had skinned enough too-thin rabbits, human innards were no problem. It was the smells that gave Karste problems in the surgeon’s tents. Usually, she had her mint extract to dab on her upper lip to help mitigate the miasma of awful offal and worse, but one of the patients had shattered it while seizing that morning and Josephine hadn’t managed to find a new bottle on any of the merchants in Skyhold. 

But there was still work to be done. 

As she carefully stitched together flesh hewn by dirty, demon claws, Karste distracted herself with memories. She quickly discarded any involving a certain blond-haired, insufferable prat. She wanted something nice to distract her, not something aggravating. Eventually her mind settled on a sweet memory from her childhood. She and her sat beside the fireplace going over a book of medicinal plants. Karste’s younger siblings were asleep in their beds while, the oldest, was being tested because she was the best and the smartest. 

Her mother had tapped her on the nose and said, “That’s right, mi cara, even though arbor blessing is hard to find here." 

"What’s mee karra mean?" 

"It’s Antivan for ‘my heart,’ which is what you are. One of my friends back in- Well, I learned it a long time ago, mi cara. Next question.” 

Karste’s hands froze mid-suture as the memory played out. It took only a moment for it to shatter whatever inner peace she had and she was in shock as she finished stitching up the Inquisition soldier. Her hands were numb when she washed them in near-boiling water to remove the blood and she didn’t even have to beg off the rest of the afternoon because Stitches took one look at her face and ordered her to bedrest. 

_Bed_ rest. Karste felt faint. Bed was not going to help. Bed was going to do the opposite of help. 

Right.  _Right_. Only one thing for it. She had to kill him.

 


	9. Double Vision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The previous one was really short, so I'm posting 2 today :) This one was written with SuperNerd92, as well.
> 
> [Original Link](https://super-nerd92.tumblr.com/post/175622207018/double-vision).

Terenti didn’t make a habit of lurking around the surgeon’s tent, but he was running seriously low on dead bodies to practice his necromancy on. These damn Andrastians and their  _we have to burn the corpses_  and _it’s what the Maker would have wanted_ and  _what the fuck are you doing, stop that this instant._

Surely some elf nobody cared about would die eventually. Dalish didn’t cremate their dead, right? Or maybe a dwarf. They didn’t even have gods, so they wouldn’t mind if he borrowed one for a bit before it ‘returned to the Stone.’  

He marched straight towards the tent, right as some woman stepped out. She wasn’t paying any attention and walked straight into him.

“Ow! Hey, watch where you’re going,” Teren snapped. “This robe’s expensive.”

Karste exited the tent with a thousand worries on her mind, not the least of which were the dwindling bandages and an entire crop of…

She stumbled back as she walked into…who she thought was Vasili.

“What did you just say to me?” she demanded as she looked up, hand at her belt and ready to draw out a dagger. “Do you ever get over yourself Va–” Karste cut herself short as she looked him over. The missing markings stuck out first, then the realization there was something a little different - wrong - about his voice. And he always snarked at her in Anders anyway.

Her face fell to disappointed, disgusted disbelief. “Maker… _he wasn’t fucking lying_.”

_He did have a twin._

“Oh, you must be referring to my younger, uglier, and much less intelligent brother,” Terenti said, eyeing the woman with renewed interest and less annoyance. Vasili hadn’t mentioned her at all, though she clearly had some sort of strong feeling about him, what with going for the knife like that. And the look on her face. And the muttering in Anders.

“Magister Terenti Sokolov, scion of House Sokolov and our seat in the Tevinter Magisterium,” he added, with a grand gesture of his arm that seemed to suggest how impressed she should be.  

Vasili had a twin and on the surface  _they were exactly the same._ Him being honest about his family was a shock she hoped didn’t show. And Terenti obviously didn’t know her, or Vasili never brought it up. This thought ignited a spark of irritation she quickly doused. If he didn’t mention her that was fine. This would eventually end when he went back to Tevinter.

“Yes he said something the same,” Karste muttered, “Is there a point or are you going to stay in my way?” She relaxed her posture to position both hands on her hips, staring down at him with bored, unimpressed disdain. If he was as vexing as his brother, then she’d be better to wave down another healer to run the list to the quartermaster. Pity there wasn’t someone bleeding to death then – always a good reason to shut out an annoyance and focus on priorities.

“Well I was  _going_  to go in there and look for something I need, but now I’m curious about you and Vas,” Terenti said, stroking his thin mustache. “I must know who exactly  _you_  are. We could stand here talking in this horrid sick people stench, or we could go over to that tavern and have a civilized conversation.”

“Who I am?” Karste repeated, barely biting back a condescending laugh as he said the word  _civilized._  “Karste.” The list in her pocket was not forgotten, but the order for what they ran low on could not be filled for several days at least.   
  
She could only imagine the whispers that would erupt from another Tevinter following her. Likely also a blood mage. And he called himself a magister. She wondered what the Seeker thought of that. Or Pavus, she rather liked him, he had the same sort of bite her mother did –critical, sardonic. Now that she thought of it, who knew he was here? Suspicious now more than inconvenienced, Karste stepped past him toward the Herald’s Rest.  
  
“ _If_ civilized _is what you are looking for,_ ” she said in Anders, emphasis on the word, “ _You’ve misheard the gossip. I hope you can talk about more than yourself._ ”

“I can talk about plenty, but stick to a real language,” Terenti chided her. He’d understood most of the last sentence but almost none of the rest. He barely used Anders outside of occasionally talking to Vasili when privacy was needed.

“I’m Vasili. Put everything on my tab,” he announced to the bartender as they stepped inside.

“He isn’t,” she said without thinking, “He’s Vasili’s brother.” The dwarf behind the bar gave Karste a look, which she returned with brows lifted, daring him to challenge her. By the time he shrugged and waved them off, she realized what she’d said. Karste turned away from Terenti before he could see the conflict of  _why am I defending Vasili and you are inviting more problems this way_  cross her face.

“So Karste must be Anders for ‘spoilsport,’” Terenti huffed as he slumped down at the bar. “Vas loves that joke. Trust me, we’re both obscenely wealthy.”

“Yes, that’s been mentioned.” Karste turned to him to look him over in the light. No weapons and no bulk of armour. A different kind of magic, maybe.

“Vas has the guild,” she began, “Why have you come to the Inquisition?” She didn’t know much about the Imperium, besides what questions Vasili answered. It was enough to know that no one with the title of  _magister_  left without reason.

Noticing her look, Terenti brushed imaginary dust from his sleeve, right over one of the artfully applied bloodstains. He was in the South now, and he’d do his damndest to look the part of a magister.

“It’s become increasingly obvious that the Inquisition has given the Venatori a bad blow, and it shows no sign of letting up. We want to be on the winning side. Acting on my brother’s information, I publicly declared our support. And here I am, making sure you all win so our investment pays off.”

She wasn’t surprised to hear this - Vasili’s business interactions weren’t all that different. “And does your demon also have a name he prefers, or is that a quirk of Vasili’s?” The only ones not nervously glancing in their direction were Bull’s Chargers, seated in the far corner under the stairs.

“What makes you think I need a demon? I’m a real mage. Vas only has one trick of borrowing George’s power,” Terenti scoffed.

“You can’t even pronounce yourself with clean clothes,” she said, lifted brows indicating she didn’t believe him,  “The effort that would take is beyond you both.”

The magister huffed, but didn’t dispute it. “George is unique. Most demons don’t bother with identification beyond what they represent. He was just that selfish.”

“Selfish is a word for it,” she remarked under her breath, reflecting on a few too many close calls to retrieve a  _thing._

A draft wafted by as the door to the tavern opened again, and Karste reached up reflexively to pull up her scarf. Her hands met bare skin and the collar of her tunic instead. The motion to pull her hair over  _that_ shoulder was not casual, and her mind raced to prepare an answer to deflect the inevitable question that would come next.

“Ooooh,” Terenti said with undisguised relish as he stared at her neck. “So that’s how you know Vas. Now I’m  _very_  surprised he didn’t write about you. I usually get all the juicy details when he has a good time.”

Karste kept her answer to herself.  _Maybe there’s a reason why._ She didn’t want to consider why, but assuming Vasili’s past encounters were as noncommittal, what made this different? She told herself the answer didn’t matter. A warm bed and satisfaction were enough in this cold, terrible fortress.

“You can ask him yourself,” Karste replied, with far more composure than she felt between the heat creeping up the back of her neck and the chill in the pit of her stomach.

“I mean, _normally_ there’s a whole rating system and a letter of recommendation,” the magister said, with a straight face despite how ridiculous  _that_ sounded. “Maybe he’s trying to keep you all to himself. That’s not very nice.”

She hoped the look on face conveyed precisely the repulsion she felt, the war between her heart and her head put aside to scrub away  _that_ awful image. “And it  _will_ stay that way.” Well, that was enough learned about the brother, she decided, before the conversation could get any worse. Karste stood to leave. Originally she thought to mention how jumpy the people of the Inquisition tended to be around strangers, but no, let him learn that balance on his own.

“The Inquisitor forbids use of Inquisition soldiers, dead or otherwise, for blood rituals,” she reminded him as she stepped back from the bar. “I will know if you break that stipulation.”

“Tattletale,” Terenti grumbled, flagging down the server for another drink. “Well, no need to flounce off yet. Surely you want to stay and get all my considerable insight on your lover?”

Karste hesitated, and she shouldn’t have, but by the time she realized she’d stopped to mull it over it was too late and she sat back down across from him. “And what is the cost of this?” she asked with narrowed eyes, “And we are not…it doesn’t matter.”

He waved it off. “I’ll just call in a favor later. And call Vas what you want, you’re clearly interested, or you’d have kept storming out.”

“ _No bodies of those that served the Inquisition_ ,” she repeated, “And nothing involving the taint.” Karste crossed her arms and gave a small incline of her chin for him to continue. People had begun avoiding where they sat, but she was careful still not to speak too loudly.

Terenti scoffed. “Give me some credit. I’m far more creative than my idiot, younger brother.”

Karste made an impatient gesture with her hand. “Yes, enough about you.”

Terenti leaned back in his seat and smirked. He took his time taking a long, slow sip of his mead. “Well… What do you want to know?”

“George took one instead of two. Why didn’t he want both you and Vas?” she asked. “I can’t see him passing up a…matched set.” She tried not to laugh.

He scowled, but answered. “We wanted him for a very specific magical experiment. To power those marks on Vas. It was an incredibly dangerous, unproven, spell - no sense in both of us risking it at the same time.”

The answer set her face back into a frown. “So you let your brother go into it knowing he could die or be harmed? You’re awful.” Instead of alcohol, the bartender set a cup of steaming tea filled with curled cinnamon bark in front of Karste, which she wrapped both hands around.

“Why the marks? Why that magic?”

A dreamy look took over Terenti’s face and his eyes looked past her. “Have you never seen Danarius’s pet wolf? A glorious, beautiful masterpiece.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, “I left the Anderfels less than a year ago. I’ve never been north.” No doubt, he meant some kind of slave or mutated animal? She hoped who - or what - it was, was in safer places now.

“He called it Fenris. A slave with lyrium imbued in its skin. It could make itself incorporeal and rip out the hearts of Danarius’s detractors. Rumor has it he was in Kirkwall with that Hawke fellow,” Terenti said, the dreamy quality still evident in his voice.

She wished she never asked. “No doubt he’s much better off far away from the Imperium.” Karste didn’t ask much about the Champion - Varric mentioned him sometimes, but rarely. Hawke made no difference to the work she did or was left to look after when negotiations took place after battle. She wasn’t sure she wanted to ask Terenti anything else. Her mother’s long winded, vehement warnings about Tevinter and getting involved with magisters rang in her mind.

“He’s lucky he didn’t die of some kind of poisoning,” she muttered, mostly to herself.

“Obviously. Why did you think I let Vasili make the pact?” Terenti asked, sounding almost offended.

“It is gratifying when I find I’ve made the better choice. You’ve regularly left your brother behind for your own curiosity?”

“Hardly. George is the oldest and most powerful demon either of us have ever encountered. He came out ahead.”

Karste looked off in thought and nodded. George always finished the winner when he wanted things from her, too, though she’d die before sharing that out loud.

“Is Vas allergic to anything?” Karste frowned at him over her mug.

“Allergic? What kind of a stupid question is that?” Terenti asked. “There are better ways to poison a man when you’re done with him.”

“Well I’ve tried that already,” she replied, annoyed, “And I’m more than aware of  _that._ ” That wasn’t why she asked. She wouldn’t share that either. This entire exchange didn’t quite feel… _right,_  considering. Karste set the mug down on the bar and stood for the second time, considering that maybe she would be better to learn what she wanted as she had already.

“Stay out of the infirmary and surgeon’s tents,” she warned, before turning and walking away.

“Wait! You haven’t even explained the poisoning, that sounds fun - Oh, she’s gone.” Terenti turned back to his drink with a dramatic sigh.


End file.
